When we baptised our daughter, I wanted to say a poem at the ceremony about mothers and daughters but couldn’t find any I really liked. A friend suggested I take pen to paper and write her a letter from the heart. It was the best advice ever.
A personal letter to your kids when they are small is such a nice touch because not only will it be a keepsake that they can hold on to forever, but it also gives a great snapshot of the times that you were then living in.
You can include any developmental stages that your kids are at, such as the cute things they are saying, or songs they like to sing and mention their favourite toys. All of those things change so rapidly that it’s good to have a note of them, and a quick letter in a card or on a piece of paper seems much more doable (to me, anyway!) than trying to build a photo montage on my computer.
I’m so glad I did it and am making a VERY brave promise to myself to write another little letter to each of my kids every time they have a birthday. Wish me luck!
Dear Eva,
On the night that I woke your dad at 1 am to say that I felt you were on the way, you were already 9 days overdue. This is entirely my fault, as my mother informs me that I was born not one, not two, but THREE weeks overdue and have been late for every single moment of my life ever since! So that one, you have inherited from me.
After your dad finished his two sausage sandwiches (cough), we drove into the hospital and I remember turning onto the quays in Dublin City and remarking on how still the river was, and how pretty everything looked all lit up at night. At that same moment, you gave me a little kick & I knew that you were ok and we were going to get you into the world safe and sound.
Your dad and I were so overjoyed that we had a daughter that we cried and cried with happiness for hours. In fact, I carried on crying for a few weeks, anytime I opened anything pretty and pink (that would be the hormones and the happiness).
From the moment I met you, I said to everyone who would listen, ‘Look how strong she looks’. You were tough from Day 1; you had this sideward glance you gave us that said ‘Ok, whoever was in charge just got fired. I’m here now’. That one, you have inherited from your dad.
I have never seen your dad so in love as he is with you. He held you on the rocking chair for hours, every single evening for the first 12 weeks of your life when your little tummy pains kept you from sleep. I often attempt conversations with him now and watch his gaze drift off towards you, where he catches eyes with you and his whole face lights up. I would wager that Irish Water could call to the door, and so long as he’s happily distracted by you, he’d let them install TWO meters.
And your brother Jacob – well, he did ask for a long time where ‘Baby Brother’ was, but he has gotten very used to being the ‘best big brother in the world’ to his beautiful little sister. He is very kind and gentle with you, delighting in seeing if you’re awake every morning so that he can say ‘Hi, Poo Head!’ After we brought you home, he would introduce you to visitors by only giving them your full name. But as he couldn’t pronounce ‘Elizabeth’, he used to call you ‘Eva A Little Bit’. And we think that really suits.
So to Eva A Little Bit – welcome to our family and our hearts. M’iníon, mo ghrí, mo chroí.
Love from mum xxx
PS: We spelled it EVA but pronounced it AVA, on purpose. You’re welcome ;o)
Have you ever written a letter to your kids? Want to share it with us? Send it in to [email protected]
